


love and truth

by curtwen



Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid, Starkid
Genre: ("enemies" used very loosely), Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, I dont know how to tag, M/M, Pining, Student AU, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtwen/pseuds/curtwen
Summary: Quirrellmort AU; students of Hogwarts.Tom Riddle hates other people, but even more than that he hates being forced to work with them. When he's paired up with a quiet, kind Ravenclaw boy, though, his worldview begins to shift.
Relationships: Quirinus Quirrell/Tom Riddle, Quirinus Quirrell/Voldemort
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> note: some of the hogwarts canon ill use is hp canon, some of it im completely making up because canon is whatever i wish it to be (or whatever gives me the most fun writing opportunities). also, as i have basically no actual hp knowledge, only avpm, i am truly throwing hp canon to the wind. the world is my oyster
> 
> anyway. enjoy!

If there was one school function Tom Riddle absolutely despised more than anything, it was group projects.

More often than not, he was forcibly paired up with some pathetic ingrate who he made do all the work anyway, though just the concept of having to be close to another random student he didn’t know set him on edge. At least if it was one of the He-Man Woman Haters he could make them do the assignment and then sit back in peace, but strangers were another story.

So, when his Herbology professor announced a partner project, he was far from thrilled. While the task itself didn’t appear too difficult - brew some kind of potion or other, he didn’t pay much attention - his biggest worry was about the partner aspect. No doubt the stupid professor was going to pair him off with some whiny loser that he’d have to deal with for at least a week, or… Well, truth be told he hadn’t paid attention to that, either.

Tom crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, giving little mind to the pale streaks of hair that fell in his face. As the list of partners was read, he attempted to look as intimidating and stand-offish as possible. Obviously he already had a long-standing reputation as the Dark Lord of Hogwarts, but it didn’t hurt to play it up a little.

“Tom Riddle, and, eh, Quirinus Quirrell.”

Immediately, Tom scanned the room, his eyes landing on the skittish Ravenclaw boy in question. He knew of Quirrell, vaguely. They’d had a few classes together, but so far he’d never really interacted with him. All he knew was that Quirrell was a stuttering, flowery wuss. So, not much different than most of the other losers he’d been paired with.

Quirrell stuffed some books, papers, a couple quills into his arms and shuffled over to where Tom was seated, keeping his head low as he did. Tom didn’t make any sort of move, his eyes trailing the Ravenclaw boy as he approached. Quirrell pulled out the chair next to him, and as he did, it scraped loudly against the floors, a horrible sound grating in the air, stopping the professor entirely in his tracks.

People _stared._ Their eyes bored into them, _both_ of them, and Tom had to fight down a murderous instinct bubbling up in his chest. Quirrell sat down quickly, the things in his arms all but spilling over the desk, and he kept his eyes downcast, away from the other students.

“A-As I was _say_ ing,” the professor called out in an attempt to rein in the class he knew he was losing, but it was feeble. Tom did his best to ignore the giggles and whispers - after all, this far into his life, it was something he had to be adept at. He glanced over at Quirrell, noticing a tremor in the boy’s hands as he collected the things he’d haphazardly splayed across the desk. A quill rolled off the side and as he turned to retrieve it, several papers went down with it.

Tom would never admit it, but he almost felt bad for the guy. He watched him flounder for a moment, gnawing off the skin of his bottom lip, before leaning over a bit and offering, “Do you, uh… need help?”

Near instantaneously Quirrell’s head snapped back to look at him, but the tragic position he was in led to his forehead smacking directly into the side of the table, and he let out a yelp, falling backwards in his chair.

“Oh, shit,” Tom hissed, and he leaned further, one hand moving to Quirrell’s arm, the other to his head. “Uh, are you okay? Listen, I can get those papers for you, it’s not, uh, not a big deal…” he said quietly, overly aware of the several sets of eyes on him. Not everyone anymore, but still enough to make his skin crawl.

Quirrell’s shoulders stiffened and he drew away, looking up more carefully now so as to avoid the table. A hand moved up to rub at the spot where skin and wood met, but even facing Tom, his eyes refused to meet him. “D-Don’t pretend like - like you c-care. I’m f-f-ffff- _fine_ ,” Quirrell spoke somewhat defiantly, clearly attempting to put purpose in his tone despite the quiver of his voice. Were Tom not utterly complexed by the reaction, he might have been impressed.

“I - uh…” Truthfully, Tom didn’t know how to respond to that. _Did_ he care? Well, not really. He didn’t even know the guy, and he’d just made a fool out of the both of them. Normally, he’d scoff and mock the kid relentlessly until he knew better than to embarrass the Dark Lord, but… for some reason, he didn’t want to. Not to Quirrell.

No - it wasn’t that Quirrell himself was a special case. He just wasn’t feeling very evil, that was all. Maybe he needed to kick some puppies or something to get going again, he didn’t really know. But, to Quirrell… he didn’t have the heart.

“Glad you’re alright,” he settled with, and furiously pushed down the budding anxiety in his chest. There was no reason he should have been worried about Quirrell’s response to that. Why would he be, when all Quirrell was for was doing his work for him? Tom tried to push that down, too.

Quirrell glanced up at him for a moment, only briefly, but the slight relax of his shoulders wasn’t lost on Tom. In a way, he felt that was a win. “Y-Yeah. Um… th-thanks,” Quirrell muttered, finally sorting out all his things on the desk in front of him. _Them,_ really. The longevity of the tables actually made it more like one long communal table, and if some of Quirrell’s things poked into Tom’s space, well, he wasn’t going to say anything.

The professor droned on a bit longer about the project, some guidelines, but Tom had long zoned it out. He rested his head on his palm, eyes fixated on a spot on the wall which happened to be right next to Quirrell’s face. Whether or not that was on purpose, he would never tell. Similarly, Tom wouldn’t complain about the way his line of sight gave him the perfect view of Quirrell’s face as the boy actually paid attention to the professor’s dull speech. He had nice eyes, Tom decided. A nice nose, too. It was cute.

 _Cute._ He almost choked on his own spit, recoiling a little in his seat. He didn’t know what traitor part of his brain had said that, but he most definitely didn’t think Quirrell was _cute._ He broke his staring contest with the wall as he tried to recuperate from the momentary shock, taking in a breath.

When he looked up, Quirrell’s eyes were boring right into him.

Tom tried to appear as casual as possible, despite being acutely aware that he looked like a deer in headlights, one hand gripping so tightly to the side of the chair his knuckles turned white. Slowly, he shifted in his seat, readjusted, until he figured he looked natural. “...What’s up?”

“Um, y-you just… uh… I-I was just… ch-checking. You made - m-made a noise. Or… s-something,” Quirrell replied lamely, but as Tom made eye contact, he felt something a slight more intense in Quirrell’s gaze, and he shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

“It was… nothing,” Tom muttered, then cleared his throat, jaw set. This kid had thrown him off his game a little, but it was nothing he couldn’t fix. He had a reputation to maintain, after all. “Now, get a start on the project, swine!” he commanded, leaning back in his chair. It came out mechanically, merely a repeat from projects of the past rather than any present conviction.

Quirrell’s expression fell, and as it contorted into thinly-veiled anger, Tom couldn’t help but feel a bit of guilt gnaw at him. “W-We’re supposed to - to work o-on this t-to- _together_ ,” he insisted, tone flat. Tom’s stomach lurched at the word ‘together;’ it ate at him like a parasite, sending hot flashes of regret through his system. 

He swallowed, hands suddenly clammy where they held on to the chair. He didn’t know what was _wrong_ with him - he’d never had problems telling off the dumbfucks of the past. In fact, he’d typically relished in it. _So what was so different about Quirrell?_

Why did he so badly want to stop?

“No. _You_ work on it, and _I_ get a passing grade. Now _write,_ fool.” The words came out of his mouth, he knew they did, but it didn’t feel like he was saying them. He didn’t want to say them. Tom’s chest pounded and throbbed, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget the way Quirrell looked at him then, rage etching all of his usually soft features. It looked wrong on him. It _was_ wrong. And it was all Tom’s fault.

“Oh, s-sorry, I f-f-ffforgot for a second, y-you’re the - the D-Dark Lord, who m-makes the other l-l- _losers_ do your work f-for you. Yeah, I-I’ll get r-r-right on it,” Quirrell snapped back, hardly waiting for a reaction before turning back to his papers, starting to write something.

Guilt bubbled up in his stomach and overtook him, a wave of nausea hitting him like a brick. He desperately wanted to take it back, tell Quirrell he didn’t mean it, but something held him back, kept his lips sealed and tongue tied. So instead, he looked away from the kind, quiet Ravenclaw boy and at his feet, ignoring the remainder of the lesson.

When the class was let out, Quirrell left as quickly as he could, not even sparing Tom a glance. He tried to ignore the pang in his heart he felt at that, instead stomping it down as much as possible. All it did was bubble and fester until it could almost swallow Tom whole in his regret.

_I need to fix this._


	2. Chapter 2

“My Lord! My Lord!” Bellatrix near-shouted at Tom as she rushed up to him, hands raised up near her chest in her excitement.

“What is it, Bellatrix?” Tom grunted. He was hardly in the mood; he was on his way to Herbology, the class he’d been dreading since his horrible mistake with Quirrell the day prior.

The girl hardly noticed his sour disposition as she continued on, “Guess what Lucius found, out behind the school. Guess!” Tom had no intentions of humoring her game, but she evidently didn’t care as she immediately answered, “A whole _crate_ of Polyjuice Potion! Can you imagine what we could do with it, my Lord? All the nerds we could frame for doing stupid shit… Haha! It’s perfect!” Bellatrix cackled, then looked over at Tom’s blank expression and paused. “Are… are you alright, my Lord?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, fine. Polyjuice Potion, yeah, sounds great,” Tom responded lamely, eyes locking on to the entrance to the Herbology room. His stomach lurched, and he tried to settle the growing nausea he felt coming on.

“Did you even pay any attention at all to my evil plan?” Bellatrix huffed, stopping in front of him, arms crossed. Tom let out a small groan, growing antsy. He didn’t have time for this, and he definitely didn’t enjoy the thought of dealing with a pissed-off teacher as well as partner if Bellatrix made him late for class.

“Of course I did, it’s super evil. We can do it later, okay? I have to go,” he hissed, pushing her aside somewhat roughly. As Tom all but ran away from her, he could hear her shout after him, but he didn’t care enough to actually listen to what she said.

He quickly pushed himself inside the Herbology classroom, just barely making it on time. “Cutting it close, Riddle,” the professor chastised, but otherwise seemed not to care. Tom grunted and rolled his eyes, making his way to his seat. Quirrell was already there, scribbling away in some kind of notebook.

As soon as Tom saw him, all his confusing and horrible emotions were thrust to centerstage, his stomach doing flips. He sat down in his chair as quietly as he could, staring in the opposite direction of Quirrell, who he figured had a similar idea.

Tom sighed, mentally slapping himself. He knew he had to _talk_ to Quirrell, fix his mistake, but any time he tried to speak, he couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come out. Frustrated, he leaned back in his chair, legs crossed. After another minute or so of stewing in his anger, he fell back into a normal sitting position, carefully glancing over at Quirrell. “...Uh - um… Hey, uh, Quirrell-”

“I a-almost have the - the essay p-portion done,” Quirrell interrupted, his tone flat. He was clearly still upset, and Tom could feel the regret chewing at him once more.

“No, that’s not - I wasn’t gonna say anything about that. Look, man, um…” Tom paused, smacking his slightly shaky hand against the side of the chair. He glanced around the room, ensuring there were no prying eyes - or ears - before he steeled himself. “I just wanted to say, uh… I’m… sorry. About yesterday. I’m - I’m sorry. Okay? You don’t have to do the project on your own.”

Quirrell paused, setting down his quill. He looked over at Tom questioningly, as if searching his face for any signs of dishonesty. “...I-Is this o-one of your j-j-jokes? You’re not p-p-pp _playing_ me, are you?”

“No - seriously, I mean it,” Tom insisted. “It’s just…” He broke off, eyes dropping to his lap. No matter what he said, it didn’t sound all that great, especially to Quirrell. But what could he even say that the boy would believe?

“...My reputation. Y’know, the whole Dark King stuff. No one really fucks with me anymore ‘cuz of it, since… they’re all scared of me, so… uh, but anyway, I just… It’s what I always do to keep that up, so… yeah. I’m sorry,” Tom rambled, never once meeting Quirrell’s eyes as he spoke. However, when he finished, the boy was silent, so Tom risked a glance upward.

Their eyes met, and to Tom’s surprise, Quirrell’s gaze wasn’t quite one of anger and distrust, but instead something kind of like apprehension. It was an improvement, at least.

“Why do you b-bother keeping up a - a reputation l-like that?” Quirrell asked carefully, his tone guarded and cautious as though he was afraid he’d set Tom off. Truthfully, it wasn’t a very unfair assumption.

“Like I said. No one fucks with me anymore,” Tom responded sharply, and he could feel his walls start to raise back up. He didn’t like talking about his past, with the orphanage and his first miserable years at Hogwarts. It’d taken him some time to earn the fearful respect of his peers, and in the times before that, his life was far from smooth sailing.

Quirrell paused, studying him for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft, with some kind of feeling in it that Tom didn’t understand. “Th-that’s it? You b-b-became a bully just t-to avoid yours?”

Well, he’d hit the nail on the head. Tom could do nothing else but nod slightly, drawing his arms up to his chest defensively. Quirrell had gotten him _vulnerable._ Now he, Tom Riddle, was puking his emotional guts out all over this flowery nerd. There must’ve been something seriously wrong with him.

“Y-You know, um… Tom, you don’t h-have to, uh…” Quirrell paused, then frowned slightly and shook his head. “...S-Sorry. It doesn't matter. Are - a-are you for sure, y-you want to s-sp-sp-split the work?” The change of subject threw Tom a bit, and he began to feel only a little antsy as Quirrell seemed to withdraw from him again. 

“Yeah, I’m certain. Seriously, man, you don't need to do it all yourself. I don't want you to,” Tom insisted, leaning forward a bit in his attempt to convince Quirrell of his intent.

The Ravenclaw boy sized him up for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Okay. I-I guess I can sh-share with you,” he replied, and perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Tom could've sworn he saw a smile crack on Quirrell’s face. He hoped so, anyway.

That thought sent Tom reeling. He _hoped so?_ He wanted Quirrell happy, and by his hands? The concept would be terrifying enough if it was someone he knew well, like Bellatrix or Lucius, but he hardly knew Quirrell. And yet, he felt he'd do anything to see him smile at him again.

Tom attempted to push away those traitorous thoughts throughout the remainder of the class. This time, he did put in effort towards the project, even if Quirrell’s consistent clean-up of his mistakes led to the boy doing it all in the end regardless. He didn’t seem to mind, though, a small smile ever-present on his face. It did something to Tom that he couldn’t quite explain.

All too soon, the class came to a stop, and Quirrell made quick work of putting away his things. “S-So, um, I guess I’ll s-see you tomorrow and we can f-finish it then?” he asked, glancing over at Tom as he moved.

He didn’t answer immediately. He couldn’t, really, not when the words he’d usually say - a quick, uninterested ‘sure,’ or perhaps something more stinging - choked and died in his throat, leaving him speechless. That is, until he blurted out something even he was shocked by; “We can meet up after hours. In the Slytherin common room. I can sneak you in.”

Quirrell stared at him like he’d grown an extra head, and Tom could feel the regret and anxiety building in his stomach. “... I… W-What? Tom, that’s - y-you can’t - _no one_ outside of S-Slytherin house has entered your c-common room, ever. That’s - th-that’s _insane,_ we can just-”

“No one has to know. I’m good at sneaking around this place. You want to get this done right, and on time, yeah?” Tom could hardly believe what he was saying. It felt like he was a bystander, merely watching as his body yammered on. And yet, he meant every word.

Other students shuffled out of the room, chairs and shoes scuffing the floor, but Quirrell and Tom were stone still, locked in a nervous staring contest. Quirrell seemed to deliberate on the proposal, finger tapping incessantly, before he finally nodded. “Okay. O-Okay, I - I guess. I g-guess we can. W-When should I…?”

“Just as soon as you can after hours. You know my gang’s usual spot, right? The one with the-”

“The corner, w-with the sudden st-step. Yeah, I-I know.”

“Yeah, okay - good. Right. Meet me there. I’ll be alone, so don’t worry about any of the others, alright?” Tom could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

“Al-alright,” Quirrell nodded slowly, eyes still locked on Tom’s. “I’ll d-do it. You just - j-just… better not get me int-to tr-tr-trouble, okay?” Then, a pause, and his hand slipped downwards, off of the desk. “N-Not with anyone else, a-at least.”

Tom’s throat was painfully dry as he swallowed and nodded quickly. “Uh huh. See you then.”

“I’ll s-s-see you later, Tom,” Quirrell bid him farewell, and just before he turned Tom thought he saw a smile on the Ravenclaw boy’s face. He quite liked how it looked on him.

Tom snapped back to reality, finding himself to be the last student left in the class. The professor gave him a rather dry look and he hastily made his way out, that familiar twisty feeling in his guts persisting even after Quirrell had gone.

 _Quirrell…_ His thoughts remained stuck on the odd, stuttering mess of a boy. He was nothing like Tom at all, really. He was smart, and he actually cared about school, and he liked flowers and books and all that other shit Tom couldn’t give less of a damn about. Somehow, though, it was endearing on Quirrell; something that made him stick out, something to admire. Like a moth to the flame, he was intrigued by him, curious as to just what made him so different from the rest.

And, ultimately, that annoyed the hell out of him. Quirrell made him _feel_ things, something he tried his hardest not to do. Getting attached to people - genuinely attached, not like with Bellatrix and Lucius, who were really only there to do things for him and get in his way - would only ever end badly. That was how it worked, the way it had always been for Tom Riddle.

Yet, as he made his way to his next class, a part of him considered that maybe growing attached to Quirrell would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh we're really in it now
> 
> this one was mostly just set-up for the real meat of the story (and the reason i wrote this in the first place)  
> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
